She spoke with the purest Castilian accent, and the rich and mellow tones of her voice were inexpressibly sweet.
"I—I—had no idea—no idea that you were anywhere near. You were the last, the very last person that I could have expected to see. How could I expect to see you here, Dolores? I thought that you were still at Valencia. And are you alone?"
"Yes—just now—from here to Burgos. I am on my way to visit my aunt at Pampeluna. She is ill. Mamma could not come with me, for she is ill too. So I have to travel alone. The good Tilda came with me to Madrid, but had to return to mamma. There was no time to seek another companion. Besides, it is only from here to Burgos."
"Oh, Dolores, little Dolores!" cried Ashby, "how delightful it is to see you again! What a lucky chance!"
"But it was not altogether chance," said Dolores.
"How?"
"Why, I saw you.
"Saw me?"
"Yes; I was watching you. You see, I was in the station waiting for the train, and saw you come in. I then watched you all the time till you entered this carriage, and then I came here too. Now, sir!"
Saying this, Dolores tossed her pretty little head with a triumphant air, and smiled more bewitchingly than ever.